I stayed calm. I offered her some leftover furniture from Dad’s house. That wasn’t enough. She wanted cash. When I refused, she erupted—accusing, yelling, rewriting history in real time.And I finally said what I needed to say: “You didn’t raise me. You abandoned me. My father chose me—and I choose to protect what he left behind.”I showed her the door, and I meant it. That night,
I sat in my dad’s old chair, surrounded by the life he helped me build. And I cried—not just for losing him, but for the teenage girl who had once been tossed away like nothing.And then I breathed. Because for the first time in a long time, I felt truly free.